


Ashes to Ashes, Stardust to Stardust

by Anonymous



Category: UNIQ (Band)
Genre: 2Leo Bromance, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Space, Gen, Hinted Xuanhan, Kidnapping, Minor Violence, Space Pirates, Space Royalty, but not a very good one, but there's no blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 19:37:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5678140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Space pirates are never this nice to their prisoners,” Wenhan mumbles, spaced out and crossing his arms like he’s in deep thought, “I still think we should put him in the bathtub.”</p><p>“I keep telling you, we can’t put people in the bathtub - we can’t empty out our soup supply like that.”</p><p>or</p><p>Wherein going along with Seungyoun's plans are never a good idea. Just look where they've gotten Yibo: mistakenly kidnapped on a mongrel spaceship by possibly the worst examples for space pirates in the galaxy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ashes to Ashes, Stardust to Stardust

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [lanternfest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/lanternfest) collection. 



“My life is officially over!” Seungyoun whirls into the kitchen like one of Saturn's hurricanes, snatching a breadroll moodily from one of the trays and tearing a chunk out of it with his teeth. The head cook nods first to recognise him before fixing him with a disapproving look. He gives her a weak smile in repentance. She rolls her eyes and hands him another one. Yibo doesn’t bother looking up at the peaceful drama, just sighs and waits, pretending to be absorbed in the fogged up surface of the pot he’s polishing.

 

“I’m guessing you want my son,” the head cook, his ma, says dryly, tutting and shaking her head. She turns around to the bench and cuts a thick slice of cake, “just make it quick, Highness. You know your parents don’t like it. And for goodness sakes,” she adds as she pops the piece onto one of their hoverplates, pushing it gently it over to him where it proceeds to bob slightly midair, “remember the manners your tutors are trying to teach you.”

 

“Thanks ma’am,” Seungyoun extends his hand a distance under the plate so it can lock onto him, “will do.” He winks cheekily and she can't help but laugh at him, then turning back to the mixing bowl she has going. Seungyoun skips over the the corner Yibo’s sitting in and jabs at him playfully at him with the toe of his shoe, “Come on!”

 

“All you’re going to do is complain to me,” Yibo looks up and arches an eyebrow even as he puts the pot and cloth down, “even polishing might be more fun than that.”

 

“But does polishing include cake?” Seungyoun doesn’t bother to deny it but doesn't miss a beat in their banter, smile as bright as a supernova for all the woes he professes to have. Yibo gets to his feet, rolling his eyes even as his lips tug upwards. Seungyoun lights up at that and takes a few jogging steps back, nearly tripping over one of the VacuumBots in the middle of cleaning, “I’ll race you to my room!” He yells and bolts out the exit as Yibo mutters a few choice words under his breath, forgetting his facade as he rises to the challenge.

 

“See you, ma,” Yibo waves quickly to his ma and takes off after Seungyoun as fast as he can with his bare feet on the cold tiles, ignoring the cautions she shrieks after them. He can’t help the giddy laugh that spills out of him as he pulls away from the kitchen. A few metres ahead, the hoverplate is bobbing up and down out of time with the swing of Seungyoun’s blond hair.

 

He shuts his eyes, grits his teeth and runs faster.

 

He knows the way to Seungyoun’s room from the kitchens by heart. Learnt it by repetition from day after day of playdates when they were still in Rockers and then day after day of sneaking out now that they’re older. A left becomes a straight corridor which merges into two paths where you take the right, head up the second set of stairs and burst through the tower door to breathe relief.

 

“You,” Yibo points a finger accusingly, maybe too dramatically, as he stumbles through the open door, “had a headstart. Rematch later.” He’s swaying back and forth a little like he’s drunk, “Yah!” He opens his arms wide and falls backwards onto Seungyoun’s massive bed. He feels crumbs in his hair. And maybe something sticky.

 

“Do you actually learn anything in your manners class,” he wrinkles his nose, running his finger across Seungyoun’s quilt and examines it. Definitely the remains of breakfast. He scrapes the scraps off his finger and onto the floor.

 

“I’m learning lots,” Seungyoun licks his fingers clean of chocolate, adjusting the pillow behind him at the head of the bed and sends the plate over to Yibo with a flick of his wrist, “I just don’t do it.”

 

“You’re so gross,” Yibo pinches a piece of cake off of the plate and pops it into his mouth, absent-mindedly licking his lips clean. He takes a moment to thank his mother for her excellent baking skills, “so what’s up?”

 

Seungyoun swings both of his legs onto Yibo’s stomach, letting them rest on there like heavy weights as he lies back. He stares at the ceiling for a few seconds then out of nowhere, laments in a mournful wail, “My parents aren’t allowing me to complete in the Galaxial Open finals.”

 

Yibo swallows his mouthful of cake, drumming one set of fingers on Seungyoun’s calf as he reaches for another chunk from the plate hovering over his face, after that pushing the plate a little to the left. Sometimes he fears that the hover mechanism will stop working and the ceramic will fall on him and give him a concussion - there’s just something about the NewWorld tech that makes him suspicious over its reliability, “But isn't that the one you qualified for?”

 

Seungyoun nods emphatically, fists clenched by his sides, “I practiced so much for the planetary qualifiers and I made top three no sweat,” he scowls and the lines on his face deepen, “I could’ve placed first if Father and Mother actually allowed me to drive my baby like everyone else.”

 

“Oh come on, remote-control is better than nothing,” Yibo tries to look on the positive side, keeping his tone light as he pinches Seungyoun’s calf teasingly, keeping his tone light, “they’re just worried about you.”

 

“But remotes are laggy and it feels more like a game than the real thing.” Seungyoun complains dismissively and pounds his fist in his left hand, leaning forwards towards him, “Can you imagine racing a spaceship for real,” his eyes light up like a comet’s tail, “- controls at your fingertips, adrenaline pumping, sights locked on the ship in front of you, whooshing past stars and asteroids - “

 

“Okay, I get the point,” Yibo cracks a smile and gingerly peels Seungyoun’s overexcited grip away from the front of his shirt. He’s never shared Seungyoun’s passion for racing, travelling, going intergalactic; couldn't really understand it. Maybe once on a third moon, he dreams of seeing the other side of Skrian Nova - wandering around the famed floating markets or renting an hour in a zero-gravity zone but that’s as far as he’s willing to go. All he needs is right here anyways.

 

“Ah sorry, I got carried away there.” Seungyoun shrugs it off and leans back onto his pillows, scratching the back of his neck bashfully.

 

“That’s not new.” Yibo snorts and props his arms up behind him, leaning back onto them.

 

“Rude,” Seungyoun pouts exaggeratedly and gestures lazily for the hoverplate to be sent back to him. Yibo pretends like he doesn’t see it, continuing to chew.

 

“So okay,” he taps his chin thoughtfully, ignoring Seungyoun kicking his legs up and down on his lap like a suspension swimmer, “why did their Highnesses let you do the qualifiers then but not the finals?”

 

“Because,” Seungyoun slumps against his pillows, eyes still fixed on the floating plate, “they’re sending me to a,” he rolls his eyes and makes air quotes, “ _diplomatic meeting_ that day on Moylav.”

 

“What?”

 

“Apparently I have to start courting princesses,” Seungyoun says bluntly, stretching his leg up to try and nudge the plate over but it stops short, just twenty centimetres away, “Princess Yeri is probably awesome to hang with and all but come on,” he gives up and lets his leg drop back down onto Yibo’s stomach, earning himself a flick on the leg, “the Galaxial is way more important.”

 

He clicks his fingers in the air, patience stretched to the limit and whines, “Come on, gimme the cake.”

 

Yibo looks at him unimpressed, hand hanging in midair. He looks to the last hunk of cake on the plate and then to Seungyoun’s expectant face and a sudden mischievousness overcomes him. He pulls the plate down to his face level and stares straight at Seungyoun emotionlessly. As if in slow motion, he takes the last morsel off the plate and to Seungyoun’s horrified, “Don’t you dare!”, puts it in his mouth and chews.

 

He sends the empty plate over with a smirk.

 

“I should have you arrested for insolence,” Seungyoun stares at the empty plate with an equally empty soul, “you are seriously the worst friend ever.”

 

Yibo nearly chokes as he tries to swallow the cake in his mouth when Seungyoun, probably fuelled by cake-deprived-rage, tries to roll him off the bed with his feet. It ends up with them both on the carpeted floor, amidst all the crumbs, clutching each other and giggling like they’ve both inhaled laughing gas. Yibo can barely force his eyes open, curved into merry crescents as wide as the second moon and tears forming a thin film over the surface.

 

“Alright who’s dying in here?” The door opens and they look up together in sync, similar guilty faces and red cheeks.

 

Sungjoo squints back at them.

 

“Yibo, is that you?”

 

“Yeah, it’s me,” Yibo waves weakly as they both struggle to sit up properly. Sungjoo’s the latest in Seungyoun’s line of bodyguards, the one that Seungyoun’s probably allowed to stay the longest because he’s been the most lax about where Seungyoun’s allowed to go and who he’s allowed to be with. The others before he’d driven off with tantrums, pranks and Yibo's help.

 

“Thank God,” Sungjoo laughs abruptly, waving one hand in the air and the other clutching over his heart, “I thought that Seungyoun had gotten hold of one of those cloning machines and made two of himself.” He tangles one hand in his fluffy hair and shakes his head in embarrassment, “That would’ve been scary - one of him is way more than enough.”

 

Seungyoun cocks his head to the side brightly, suddenly interested, “They made those legal?”

 

“No, no, no,” Sungjoo forms his arms into an X-shape, frowning, “those are definitely still illegal.”

  

“Shame,” Seungyoun sighs dramatically, a teasing glint in his eye, “you know, I should talk to Mother about that - it could be kinda fun to play games with like, three of me.”

 

Sungjoo chooses wisely not to respond to that and it confirms Yibo’s theory that Sungjoo can’t be as obtuse as his appearance implies. At first glance, he just seems like another simple run-of-the-mill humanoid, the only remarkable thing being the gold irises that comes with his KM origins. The dreamy expression he always has isn’t much help either, having led Yibo to think that he was just a new manservant the first time they’d met. Still, he supposes Sungjoo uses his image to his full advantage. No one expects the doe-eyed goofball who pets street strays to know five different martial arts, how to improvise body armour and weaponry from a hoverboard or be able to lift twice his body weight.

 

“You’ve already got Yibo,” Sungjoo refutes Seungyoun easily, grinning cheerily, “he’s probably closer to you than any clone could ever be.” He hums melodically, leaning against the doorframe with his gold eyes sparkling with mirth, “In another life, I bet you two would be brothers - more of a headache for me though.”

 

The holocom on his belt crackles to life and Sungjoo snaps to attention, bringing the device to his ear and nodding occasionally at the crackle of words even though the other person can’t see him.

 

“Yes Your Highness, I’ll bring him right now... Yes, right away Your Highness... Will do... Understood.”

 

He coughs once and puffs out his chest, clipping the holocom back onto his belt “The small Highness has a meeting with his parents right now - they want to talk about your expected behaviour when you go over to Moylav in five days.”

 

Seungyoun groans and melts from a sitting position to lying down.

 

Yibo pats his butt comfortingly.

 

Sungjoo pauses for a second and then winces sympathetically. Yibo can tell where this is going. “And it’s probably time for you to be back in the kitchens, Yibo. You can’t stay here.”

 

“Yeah,” Yibo knew it was coming but the words are still sobering, a sense of awkwardness settling around him like a cloak, “of course, yeah.”

 

He gets to his feet and looks skeptically at a liquified Seungyoun sprawling on the floor in defiance. Sungjoo looks at Yibo and makes a gesture like ‘what can you do’, stooping down to drape Seungyoun over his shoulder. He beats Sungjoo’s lower back uselessly but he’s ignored even as Sungjoo’s signature smile blooms back on his face.

 

“I’ll see you around Yibo,” he beams kindly and Yibo shoots him a thumbs up, a tight smile on his face as he resigns himself back to polishing more pots, scooting out the door. He waves weakly as Seungyoun’s carried away and bites his tongue, turning in the other direction.

 

He trudges back down the corridors, stone growing colder under his feet as he draws closer to the kitchens again. It's a reminder of just how dull his life is with each step he takes. He shoves his hands into his pockets and stares wistfully ahead. There are times he resents Seungyoun wholly for never seeming to appreciate the silver spoon thrust into his mouth at birth, never having to work so hard to keep a job or just to be fed. But those times are reserved for sleepless nights under skies with no moons and no breeze; never for Seungyoun to know.

 

* * *

 

“I need to talk to you!” Seungyoun comes hurtling back into the kitchen like yesterday but this time, it’s during breakfast and Yibo would like to finish the rest of his soup please. His mother looks up from her automatic scale, all traces of irritation disappearing once she sees who it is.

 

“I’m supposing it’s not me you want to talk to?” She jibes in good humour, nodding her head to greet Seungyoun’s entrance, “Let him finish his breakfast first and then you two can go play, alright?”

 

But telling Seungyoun to wait is futile.

 

“He can eat breakfast in my room right?” He asks, putting on the boyish charm that all mothers seem to fall for.

 

“Knowing you, your Highness,” she clicks her tongue as she tips the last remains of the flour from the scales into her bowl, “and my son, there will either be spillage or he’ll forget to eat. I’m sure you can wait here for a few more minutes or just talk here instead.”

 

Yibo is proud to say his mother is stronger than the rest.

 

“Argh,” Seungyoun puts the back of his hand to his forehead and pretends to stagger backwards, showing the white of his eyes, “you drive a hard bargain Mrs Wang.”

 

“You’re damn right I do,” the head chef says firmly, wagging her finger in his face, “and if you want to continue stealing snacks from here between meals, you’ll sit like a prince should and wait.”

 

“I guess I’ll have to,” Seungyoun casts his head low and clutches his stomach mournfully, looking up through his eyelashes, “but do you think I could have something to eat whilst waiting?”

 

“You’re just as bad as my son - always hungry,” she stares disbelievingly at him but testament to her apparent want to feed the entire universe, she reaches under the counter to search around in the longlife storage compartment, “you two are getting more similar by the day.” She sighs exasperatedly and pulls something out finally, “Here,” she places a CompressNutrition bar into his hand and cracks a grin at his downcast expression, “now sit quietly and eat.”

 

Seungyoun shuffles dejectedly over to Yibo’s corner where he’s halfway through the bowl. He plops down like a rock and glumly strips the bar out of its packaging, taking a large sullen bite out of it.

 

“What do you want to tell me?” Yibo tips the liquid towards his mouth, gulping it down eagerly. He'll never get sick of OldWorld cuisine - his ma’s speciality. No matter what the scientists or rich fat chefs on holocasts say, food crystals will never replace the genuine taste of OldWorld food. Not that he would ever know what OldWorld food originally tasted like but he trusts his ma, she’d never lead him wrong.

 

“Can’t tell you here,” Seungyoun rips another bite out of the bar, leg twitching like he’s ingested pure caffeine powder, “but it’s amazing. I’m officially a genius.”

 

Yibo pulls a small flap on the bottom of the disposable container and it crumples into itself, all the air sucked out from it to leave a biodegradable husk. He aims it for the open window: focusing, locking onto target, projectile at the ready -

 

“ - oh cool you’re done, come on!” Seungyoun drags Yibo up by the arm and at the same time, Yibo goes for the launch. The package misses the window, just ripples the hologram on the walls, temporarily revealing the steel surface behind it before falling onto the counter uselessly. It doesn't matter to Seungyoun though who tears out of the kitchen, Yibo unfortunately attached. He feels like one of those kites he’s seen in two dimensional pictures, trailing out after a child running and flapping in the wind. With a quick, “Sorry ma!” all he can do is focus on not falling over his own feet. All he can do is trail uselessly in Seungyoun’s wake, trusting that the other is careful enough to avoid leading him into a wall.

 

“I feel like I need one of those AirBumpers right now,” he groans, feet moving without need for thought as they trace the familiar path to Seungyoun’s room, “then I’ll know for sure you won’t crash me into a wall.”

 

“I thought it would be because they’re meant for babies like you,” Seungyoun tosses back over his shoulder, looking away from the corridors in front of him for a second. He promptly runs into a stationary VacuumBot, stumbling backwards in a daze and knocking Yibo to the ground. The VacuumBot begins to power up and an automated female voice echoes around the area.

 

“The VacuumBot 540 is ready for use. Where would you like cleaned?”

 

Seungyoun gets to his feet and dusts himself off. Yibo does the same but takes a few steps forwards and thumps Seungyoun on the back of the head.

 

“Good going on that, idiot.”

 

“Nah it’s fine,” Seungyoun waves him off and wanders over to play with the settings, “I’ll just turn it off for now before it goes to clean out our mouths or something.”

 

A blue light shoots out from the bot and promptly scans them over before he can reach it. “Location detected: Cho Seungyoun’s and Wang Yibo’s mouths.”

 

"Did you just - "

 

“Oh damn,” Seungyoun curses faintly, paling and grabbing tight onto Yibo’s hand, “I didn’t know they could do that.”

 

They trade hurried looks as arm-like extensions grow from the main unit.

 

“Run.”

 

This time, he feels less like a kite and more like a hamsterpig on a wheel. The VacuumBot manages to keep on their tail with an old fashioned bar of soap and a sponge in its grip, ominous rattling spurring them on to race faster.

 

Yibo mutters hate under his breath for the latest update that lets bots climb stairs.

 

When the door to Seungyoun’s room comes into sight, they both grunt and put on a burst of extra speed. They reach the entrance at the same time but Seungyoun jostles Yibo in the shoulder by accident, causing Yibo to stumble. Seungyoun gets to the room ahead of him and makes to slam the door behind him.

 

“Cho Seungyoun, don’t you dare - “

 

“Kidding! In, in, in!” Seungyoun reaches out and grabs his arm, tugging him in. He swings the solid steel shut behind them with a metallic clang. There’s no collision that comes as the bot hovers just outside the door, only sign of its presence being the robotic mantra of, “Cleaning in progress, targets detected. Cleaning in progress, targets detected,” that rings, muffled.

 

“I’ll get Sungjoo to deal with that,” Seungyoun chuckles sheepishly, mirth still present on his face even as Yibo glares at him poisonously, “sorry.”

 

“I honestly thought you were going to abandon me to the damn thing,” Yibo grumbles and throws himself into a hanging pod, spinning himself around until the world blurs, “those things take what you say seriously, y’know? My ma’s told me horror stories about kids who got their mouths scrubbed out so clean they didn’t have any tastebuds left.”

 

“I was joking,” Seungyoun pauses the spinning pod with one finger and climbs inside himself to nestle himself next to Yibo. Yibo grumbles and moans as he shifts to make space in a one-person pod for two, “I’d never abandon you.”

 

“Sure,” Yibo stares at his bare feet, tone a little snappier than he means it to be. He could blame it on the close encounter just then, reminders of it echoing faintly through the room with each, “Cleaning in progress, targets detected” that repeats.

 

Seungyoun is stung, oddly hurt, “Have I ever done that?”

 

“I just mean,” Yibo doesn’t want to talk about this right now, “isn't there a possibility. In the future. When you become king.”

 

“I’ll just make you my royal advisor,” Seungyoun says like he can guarantee it and though he doesn't want to be, Yibo finds himself heartened by it, “we’ve been best friends since forever! No way we’d ever split up.”

 

“Promise?” Yibo hates how hopeful he sounds.

 

“Promise,” Seungyoun links pinkies with him.

 

It’s an OldWorld gesture - they’d come across it together when they were younger, rifling through the archives in the Skrian Nova Library for some project their tutor had set. Really, she'd been Seungyoun’s tutor but with nothing to do the whole day, Yibo had somehow been roped into their lessons as well. They’d found a couple of DVDs - OldWorld shows apparently, like holofilms but on old-fashioned discs. Yibo didn’t even know anyone who owned a discplayer anymore apart from the Library. They’d spent the entire afternoon with their eyes fixed to the holoscreen, fascinated by curiously outdated things like cars that only existed in preservation museums. In one of the shows though, a pair of girls had linked pinkies, murmuring excitedly about being friends forever. Seungyoun had reached over for his hand and fitted their pinkies together in curiosity, curling his around Yibo’s.

 

“This is our thing now,” he had announced solemnly, raising their joined pinkies into the air like a trophy, “because we’re going to be friends forever.”

 

Yibo had curled his pinky back shyly and laughed.

 

He shakes himself out of his reverie and clears his throat, playing it off casually, “What if you end up marrying Moylav’s princess?”

 

“Actually,” Seungyoun’s eyes brighten up, a familiar glint of fire dancing in them that makes Yibo wary. It’s his I-Have-An-Idea look, the one that’s gotten them into trouble - but mostly him though - for their entire childhood. It was the look that convinced him to go along when they tried to sneak out of the castle just because, to put a dozen hamsterpigs in a visiting nobleman’s luggage, to set up a hologram around the throneroom’s entrance so no one could find it, “you won’t have to worry about that.”

 

Yibo stares flatly at him.

 

“No.”

 

“I haven’t even told you what I’m thinking yet!”

 

“Whatever it is, it won’t be good.”

 

“No, come on - it’s a brilliant idea! Hear me out!”

 

He seizes Yibo’s hands and swings them up and down excitedly, making the pod bounce with the movement.

 

Yibo huffs and doesn’t say anything. Seungyoun presses on.

 

“Okay, so you know how everyone is always saying we’re alike, right? Like Sungjoo and your mother just then?”

 

Yibo can already see where this is going and he doesn’t like it. Not one bit.

 

“So I was thinking that if we dye this blonde,” Seungyoun reaches across to ruffle his brown servant-status hair, nearly knocking him in the face with his elbow, “you can just pretend to be me and visit Moylav whilst I can hide out here and win the Galaxial!”

 

Yibo immediately contemplates pushing him out of the pod.

 

“Come on,” Seungyoun wheedles persuasively, “it’s the only way I can go for the Galaxial.”

 

“Okay but one, won’t your parents know that your ship raced?” Yibo rolls his eyes, counting off the flaws in the plan on his fingers, “Also how are you supposing we get past Sungjoo, he has to be on the travel capsule with me. Moylav security are totally going to know your face too - they’re not stupid and we’re not that much alike. My ma’s gonna know I’m gone too so that’s another problem and,” Yibo wants to wipe the smug grin off Seungyoun’s face, “there’s also nothing in it from me.”

 

“I’ll tell them I’m paying someone to pilot it,” Seungyoun counts off on his fingers in rebuttal, “we’ll get you on the capsule before Sungjoo gets on and,” he bites his lip in something like guilt, “after liftoff, there’s nothing he can do about it without losing his job.” He pauses and then rolls on, picking up steam,,” Also, I’ve never been to Moylav so they don’t really know what I look like, you can tell your mother you’re going to hang out in the Library - you do enough of that already and,” Seungyoun sucks in a huge breath and beams like he’s got this in the bag, “in return you get my eternal gratitude - “

 

“Boring.”

 

“ - and a free intergalactic trip plus royal officials kissing your ass all day. I’m talking massage services, bars, huge bathtubs bigger than the basement, a welcome feast - “

 

“But my hair - “

 

“Like I said, we’ll dye it blond!” He ruffles his own hair until it’s just a nest on his head, grinning widely from under stray strands, “It’ll be enough to fool them into thinking you’re royalty. You can wear my clothes too - they won't be able to tell the difference.”

 

“Ma will definitely notice.”

 

“Nah,” Seungyoun waves it off, “that’s not a big deal either, we’ll change it to brown again once you come back.”

 

“Okay,” Yibo’s head is crammed with so many reasons why this isn’t a good idea, “let’s say I go along with this. How do we dye my hair in the first place? ColourChange in blonde is illegal if you remember.” Yibo frowns and crosses his arms tightly.

 

“Well otherwise anyone could pose as a member of the royal family,” Seungyoun shrugs matter-of-factly, “but we’re not going to use ColourChange.”

 

“I haven't said I'm doing it yet,” Yibo mutters under his breath, purposely loud enough for his protests to be heard but Seungyoun powers on.

 

“Remember going through the archives in the Library?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“And they had an exhibition on OldWorld beauty?”

 

“And?”

 

“They had a demonstration of OldWorld hair dye with like twenty spares on the side. That means they must have a stash of them somewhere, right?”

 

“Those are archive materials! You wouldn’t be able to steal it,” Yibo shakes his head in disbelief, just about ready to talk some sense into Seungyoun, “plus we wouldn’t have the first idea about how to use it. It’s not like ColourChange tech you know.”

 

“I could so steal it,” Seungyoun’s face is arranged in a perfect picture of outrage, “and there are instructions, I definitely remember instructions being on it.”

 

Yibo really wants to say no, wants to walk out of the room right now and forget Seungyoun ever proposed this in the first place. The problem is that Seungyoun says it with confidence. With the kind of cocky gleam and ready smile that appears automatically like he was born with it. With the words, “Just trust me.” and Yibo finds himself once again in helpless agreement disguised by a roll of his eyes.

 

He needs to get out of this habit soon.

   

 

* * *

 

 

Scratch that, he needed to get out of this habit fifty light years ago.

 

Yibo stares at his reflection in the full length mirror in the luxurious cabin of the travel capsule, running fingers through his newly blond hair. It feels a little like straw and slightly brittle. If he stands back a bit and squints, it doesn’t even look blond - just kind of orange. He tries twirling a strand around his finger but it just doesn’t feel right. He yanks a few hairs out accidentally as he pulls his finger away quickly.

 

“Cho Seungyoun,” he mutters crossly as he turns away from the mirror and walks over to the closet space, using the monitor to browse its contents, “prince or not, you owe me bigtime.” He means to start picking his outfit for the occasion, really he does, but a category catches his eye for a second and it’s not long before he finds himself trying on all of Seungyoun’s hats.

 

He’s in the middle of propping a mechanised lion snapback onto his head when a notification pops up on the monitor. _Two hours until destination_. He hurriedly exits the hat section and tosses the snapback onto the bed. No more time to lose now and so he delves into formal wear, flipping through quickly.

 

It’s just a multitude of boring blazers, unofficially the official uniform that Seungyoun has on visiting events. It’s hard to pick even one that he could actually wear. All of them are embellished with the royal crest of course, but also an insufferable amount of gold edging and embellishment. It’s tempting to think about how much just one tassel would be worth to him and his mother but he restrains himself there before he does something he regrets. He pauses the browsing on a red blazer and jabs clumsily at the screen to examine it closer.

 

This one’s not too complicated, maybe something he can deal with. There’s nothing that fancy on it either apart from the gold shoulder adornments and thin flower-shaped plates of gold on the front, joined by a taut chain. His mother had always said red is his colour too.

 

He brings it out before he can start finding faults in it, waiting for the closet to rotate itself and then present the garment to him. He swings it on over his shoulder, slipping his arms into the sleeves over the plain button-up Seungyoun had forced him into. The accompanying set of FitsAll pants are pulled on too, fitting him perfectly like they’re meant to.

 

The capsule shudders briefly and Yibo grabs onto the side of the wardrobe’s steel frame to keep himself upright. He’s halfway to activating the communications between the private cabin and the rest of the ship, curious as to what’s wrong, but he stops himself in time. The later the Sungjoo discovers the switch, the better. The capsule doesn’t shake anymore in the few minutes following and Yibo figures it must’ve been something small. Nothing that dangerous can happen in midspace anyways save space pirates or a mechanical malfunction - both of which he’s confident Sungjoo can deal with.

 

He dismisses it and drags his feet through the plush carpet, studying his appearance in front of the mirror. He could almost believe he was royalty but there’s still something about him that’s lacking. He pockets his hands and lifts his chin higher, straightening his shoulders out. Better, but there’s still something off about him, something not quite believable. He presses his lips together, clenches his eyes shut and tries to channel the public side of Seungyoun he’s seen countless times on local planetary holocasts.

 

When he opens his eyes again, he doesn’t quite recognise his reflection. _It’s a prince_ , he hears echoing around at the back of his mind, _that’s not a kitchen boy anymore - it’s a prince_. With a shielded gaze and closed expression, he looks the part. It’s amazing, he stares at himself without blinking, that cold indifference is the difference between royalty and commoner.

 

“Prince Cho Seungyoun,” he rolls around his mouth, foreign bodies to be sampled. The words are strange in his mouth. He tries again and this time, enunciates confidently, tucking his arms neatly behind his back with military precision to look the part too, “Skrian Nova. Pleased to meet you - “

 

“Oh, so am I,” an unfamiliar voice sing-songs cheerfully as a body falls through the gap in the opening door. Yibo loses his pose, more concerned with backing up against the wardrobe. His eyes flit from the figure lying prostrate on the floor to the new person leaning casually in the doorway, pointing something at him that he doesn't recognise.

 

He nearly chokes on air when he realises the body is Sungjoo’s.

 

“What did you do to him?”

 

“Oh him?” The intruder hums in thought like this is an everyday thing he does. Maybe it is. Yibo doesn’t want to ask.

 

“A little bit of this and a little bit of that. He did well though, he could’ve maybe taken me down if I didn’t play a little dirty.” He sounds impressed even as he rolls Sungjoo over with his toe, “What is he? KM?”

 

“He’s not dead right?” Yibo changes the subject but his eyes still study Sungjoo in detail, widened in dread and fearing for the worst. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when Sungjoo’s eyelids twitch.

 

“Dead?” The intruder sounds incredulous but bares his teeth in what appears to be a smile, “We’re not that stupid, don’t worry. He’ll be fine - we need a messenger anyways.”

 

“A messenger?” Yibo repeats slowly, not understanding.

 

“How else are we meant to let their Highnesses know you’ve been kidnapped,” the intruder says breezily, playing with a catch on the object that he’s holding. It makes a continuous clicking noise back and forth, an ominous metronome as background music as Yibo’s thoughts buffer. When he registers what the words mean, his head is filled with a rush of static and panic starts to bubble to the surface.

 

“Look I’m - I’m not the prince - “ he blurts out frantically, trying to extract himself from the situation with the truth, “You probably think I'm lying but I’m not who you’re looking for - “

 

“Hey,” the intruder takes a few steps into the cabin and in the lighting, Yibo can see a few things clearer. The person - or humanoid maybe - doesn’t look much older than him on the outside and for what it’s worth, he’s attractive too. A carefree smile plays on his lips but the innocence of it is offset by the probable weapon he’s toying with in his hands. And now pointing straight at him, “we’re in a little bit of a hurry here so just save your breath and come with me.”

 

“What if I don’t want to?” Yibo mutters stubbornly, trying to disguise his uncertainty.

 

His kidnapper sizes him up, head cocked to the side and still playing with the thing in his hand. He purses his lips in a pout and taps the end of the thing on his chin twice, “That’s a good question.” Abruptly, he points it straight at Yibo’s head, fingering the catch, “Let’s find out.”

 

He swings the thing away and aims for the snapback on the bed. A bang fills the cabin and Yibo jumps back, half-screaming in fright. When he dares to open his eyes again, the snapback from earlier fills his vision. This time though, there’s a perfectly round hole through the lion’s head.

 

“You still sure you don’t want to?” The intruder fits the snapback on his own head and winks at himself in the mirror. Yibo might be too scared to judge him.

 

There’s no more choice. Yibo reluctantly shuffles past and towards the door, feeling the gaze of the weapon on his back. He should comply, really that would be the smartest thing to do, but he hesitates as he’s about to step over Sungjoo’s still body.

 

“And...” he turns around to the threat, “he’ll be fine?”

 

“He’ll be fine,” The kidnapper just sounds whiny now and prods him in the back with the weapon. It’s without malice though, more like a child impatiently tugging at the skirts of an adult, “we need to hurry up. There’s someone waiting who’s even slower than you are.”

 

“But can I,” frustration (or is it desperation) courses in his veins, “can I make sure he’s breathing, at least?”

 

A disbelieving noise. “When has a prince actually cared about their staff?”

 

“I’m seriously not the prince though, I swear I just - “

 

A scoff. “Sure, sure. If you’re not the prince, I’m from Oeghan.” He motions up and down his body and does a small ‘ta-dah’ motion, “Unfortunately for you though, I’m too good looking for that planet.”

 

“No please,” Yibo clenches his teeth and discards whatever pride he has, “I’ll do whatever you want - I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

 

“I’m telling you he’s fine but since you obviously don't trust me,” an accusing huff like he’s actually hurt by the very notion, “you get ten seconds. 10, 9 - ”

 

Yibo stoops down quick and leans over Sungjoo’s body, hands braced on his chest, “Sungjoo, are you okay?” He mutters, loud enough to hear and pretends to check his pulse. His heart races as his right hand worms its way unobtrusively under his body to Sungjoo’s belt line, unclipping the bodyguard’s holocom. He slips it into his shoe as he stands up shakily and bows stiffly before stepping carefully over Sungjoo. He can feel the round outline of the device pressing into his ankle in every step and all he can do is pray that the tracking is switched on.

 

“Tally ho,” the kidnapper pats him on the back and then slides the weapon’s barrel to the small of Yibo’s back, “and onwards we go.” He laughs at his own rhyme like it’s the most amusing thing he’s heard today, “Quickly please.”

 

Yibo can’t help but obey, one foot marched in front of the other but his thoughts are racing faster. One part is trying to think of escape plans, another focused how to survive. Yet another wonders about the captors themselves because it’s obvious by now there’s more than one of them but the biggest part is solely dedicated to cursing Seungyoun out.

 

And all the way, the kidnapper is humming an obnoxiously cheerful jingle under his breath.

 

The rear of the capsule soon comes into view. There’s a rogue ship attached, entrance and exit sealed at the edges with the capsule. If he angles his head, he can see a little bit of the interior too but not much else. Yibo licks his dry lips and hesitates momentarily, tripping a little over himself. He just gets a series of jabs in the back with the weapon for his troubles as well as a flick to the base of his neck. He flinches away more at the flick than the jab and the intruder stifles laughter, jabbing him playfully in the back again to make him stiffen.

 

Well at least someone’s having fun.

 

“That’s our humble ship,” he gets a hand on his shoulder this time, pushing him forward faster, “let's go." Yibo stumbles along obediently. There’s nothing more he can do now apart from whatever it is these beings want.

 

“Say goodbye to luxury,” he’s forced over the boundary with a light push and before he knows it, there’s the sound of both sets of doors re-sealing. On this ship, it’s louder than the capsule - less plasterglass, more oldschool metal - and the doors draw to a close, clanging together and closing him in, “it might be awhile before you see it again depending on how cooperative your parents are.”

 

For the first few seconds, he just takes in his new surroundings. It’s a lot dimmer in this ship than the capsule. The lights flicker yellow in erratic intervals, making the inside look like a supervillain’s galactic lair. Except less impressive. It’s not much bigger than the capsule’s main room, maybe even smaller, and it’s definitely not as nice. Looking around, he can tell that the ship’s been modified. Bolts shinier than the walls fix some pieces of the interior to the ground and the existence of both a holoscreen and an outdated control panel in the same ship is paradoxical. It’s not quiet either, there’s a distinct clunky grinding in the background that makes Yibo doubt exactly how safe this vessel is. There’s the smell of something in the air too - he doesn't know the name of it but it makes him want to gag - that makes his nose itch. It’s pervasive enough that he could almost taste the thickness of it on his tongue. It’s a mongrel ship, in essence. One that Seungyoun would declare not even fit for the Recycle races.

 

The throb and rumble of the clumsy engine invades his thoughts and he’s snapped back to reality. A glance through one of the small windows tell him they’re pulling away from the capsule. His chances of escape disappear dramatically, sucked into a blackhole.

 

Something rushes out of him at the realisation, leaving him deflated. He’s trapped now, isn’t he. There’s no way that he’s going to be believed that he’s just a lowly kitchen boy, the story’s too absurd and protests will do no good. But even if they do believe him in the end, he’ll probably end up Ejected in the best circumstances. He’s seen multiple versions of midspace death in his comics - heads popping, eyes bulging, bodies swelling to gross sizes... No, better to keep quiet until rescue comes.

 

But then again, he muses numbly as he’s manhandled into and tied to a chair in the middle of the ship, that’s a question of if rescue comes. Although he’s sure their Highnesses are somewhat fond of him, it’s doubtful if they’d risk troops for a lowly kitchen boy. Isn't that just the way things are. He thinks of his mother staying up tonight, waiting for him in the slants of moonlight from both moons and chewing on her nails anxiously. It breaks his heart.

 

He clenches his jaw tight, blinking rapidly to clear away tears as his surroundings start to blur.

 

_Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry._

 

“What did you do Wenhan?” A new voice sounds displeased, maybe edging into worried, “Did you scare him too much with the gun? Also take off that hat.”

 

“I only fired one bullet!”

 

Yibo lifts his head and sniffs, lump forming in his throat and spits out the words with brimming eyes, “I’m not crying.” He blinks hard to bring his vision back into focus and ignores the hot tears running down his cheeks. There’s someone new seated in front of him, across the table. His eyes are strangely kind, a gentle smile despite the three piercings in his ear. The first kidnapper - Wenhan, he supposes - stands behind him, looking less cheerful and more sulky. Yibo notices he has piercings too, less noticeable but still there - two in his ear.

 

“Welcome aboard Prince Cho,” this new person says and his eyes are nothing but sincere. It’s weird but he’s either a very convincing liar or he means it, “sorry this ship’s not much but it’s all we could manage where we were. You can call me Yixuan and I suppose we’ll be uh,” he scrunches his nose, looking for the tactful thing to say, “looking after you for the next few days.”

 

“Can’t we just say ‘holding you for ransom’?” Wenhan puts forward with a vague grin, raising his eyebrows innocently.

 

“Wenhan!” Yixuan twists in the chair and gives Wenhan a glare, “Don’t say that in front of our guest.”

 

“You mean prisoner on the ship?” Wenhan repeats, sounding like he’s genuinely curious. There’s a sort of glint in his eyes though, one that bears an eerie resemblance to Seungyoun’s signature expression, that tells Yibo there’s a lot more to him than it seems.

 

“Guest,” Yixuan says firmly, “he’s our guest.”

 

“Guests usually aren’t tied up,” Yibo bites out, grateful that his tears have dried up. He tries flexing his wrists in the metal cuffs they’ve used to test them out. They don’t budge.

 

“Sorry about that,” Yixuan sounds apologetic at least, “but it’s necessary though - we can’t really risk anything. We’ll do our best to bring you anything you need to make up for it.”

 

“Space pirates are never this nice to their prisoners,” Wenhan mumbles, spaced out and crossing his arms like he’s in deep thought, “usually they wave lots of lasers around and lock them up somewhere. I still think we should put him in the bathtub.”

 

“I keep telling you, we can’t put people in the bathtub - we can’t empty out our soup supply like that.”

 

“Which idiot thought of putting our soup in there then?”

 

“You.”

 

“Ah...”

 

Wenhan mulls it over.

 

“But aren’t you the idiot who let me do that?”

 

Yixuan falls silent like he’s legitimately giving thought to that.

 

Yibo can only wonder, slack-jawed, how it was he had the luck to be mistakenly kidnapped by the most unsuited pair in the galaxy. Midspace death is sounding more and more appealing by the second.


End file.
